Have You Ever Seen The Rain?
by Naitachal666
Summary: He can’t help but wonder if anyone will ever know what its like to see the rain when it’s the only love you know.[Deidara]Warn: abuse, violence, later Yaoi
1. Prologue

I almost cried as I wrote this. If you play the song as you read, or even just hum the tune, it'll become something so beautiful and sad. And right after the first 'I wanna know - Have you ever seen the rain?', the story actually goes to the tune. And I just realized, that if you do it right, the entire thing goes to the song. Huh.

**Oh, and just so you know,** this **isn't about Naruto.** This isn't Naruto's story. It is **Deidara's**, one of the most ill understood and often **wrongly genderized **characters. This is the first chapter of **his** story, AU of course, and it's something like a prologue. This is where his story begins. This is where a happy life ended, before it even really began. And if you read this right, you will never see the rain again in the same light.

The characters may not be real, but as much as we wish to ignore the fact, the situation IS real. There are children, some no older than a few months all the way up to young adults who are beaten and abused by others. Behind closed doors, in an alley, in the picture-perfect happy family. Everywhere. This is reality. It could have been you. If you yourself derive pleasure by abusing children, I hope your carcass rots and you are forsaken by every person you have ever known. I am not allowed to give names, but the events in this story are true (although not all to one case), based off of events that happened to several people I know. In a way, this is their story. They wanted to let the world know, for you to see things through your own eyes what life can be like. Some _small _parts are made up, but none of it is exaggereated.

Just remember. This story is bad, but in truth, it is nowhere near the lowest of the low.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Naruto or any of the characters therein. They are the property of Masashi Kishimoto.

_'lyrics' in italics_

_**'story' in bold italics**_

Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

_Someone told me long ago  
There's a calm before the storm  
I know  
_

_**Images flash. A newborn child cradled in his mother's arms, the father standing by. Another. This time the child is held by his father, rocking it gently and smiling down. There is love it seems.**_

_It's been coming for some time  
When it's over so they say  
It'll rain on a sunny day  
I know _

_**Another. Years later, a small boy stands over his mother as slow droplets of cold water fall on her once warm skin. Blue eyes open wide and empty, staring to the sky as the tears begin to fall. She will never see them. Her arms will never again encircle a frightened child to take away his fears. Her soft voice won't ever croon another lullaby into the darkness. A small hand brushes across a fair cheek and tiny fingers flutter across lashes glistening with false tears. Their reddened tips trace through the moisture gathered there, rivulets of water running away from their delicate touch to slip out of sight into the ground. **_

_Shining down like water _

_I wanna know   
Have you ever seen the rain? _

_**Water spots the back of a small hand as it's little fingers run softly over golden tresses pressed into the damp ground; silky locks that will never again be brushed as a woman sits before and open window, golden sunlight bathing her in radiance as she hums a simple melody to the canary that warbles back from its wire cage. Never again.**_

_I wanna know   
Have you ever seen the rain? _

_Coming down on a sunny day  
_

_**Beautiful blue eyes rimmed with tears for what can't be understood, as he holds his mother close.**_

_Yesterday and days before  
Sun is cold and rain is hard  
I know _

_**And his father comes across them, lying there upon the road. His eyes are rimmed in tears and its all one child's fault. Things will never be the same, no longer a happy home.**_

_It's been that way for all my time  
Till forever on it goes _

_Through the circle fast and slow _

_  
__**Love is forgotten, and all the child shows is another set of welts and another night alone. He dreams and all he sees is rain falling from the sky.**_

_I know  
And it can't stop I wonder _

_I wanna know   
Have you ever seen the rain? _

_**He dreams and all he sees is another day gone by.**_

_I wanna know   
Have you ever seen the rain? _

_**He lives and all he knows is that there used to be a time without the pain.**_

_I wanna know   
Have you ever seen the rain? _

_**Now the mother's gone leaving a child all alone. And when he sees the rain, falling soft and falling slow, he can't help but wonder, if anyone will ever know what its like to see the rain, when it's the only love you know.**_

_I wanna know   
Have you ever seen the rain?_

Thank you for reading this sad, sad story. It is only the first chapter of something, but I know not what. Reviews are welcome, but flamers will be rebuked.


	2. We Only Come Out At Night

**WARNING: **

In this chapter and onwards from here, there will be disturbing and highly graphic descriptions of child sexual abuse as I relate the events that happen in the story.

If you wish not to read those graphic descriptions, they ARE marked off with a warning label.

If you wish to continue reading the story, for it will become more graphic as time goes on, you may request an edited version of the story.

The characters may not be real, but as much as we wish to ignore the fact, the situation IS real. There are children, some no older than a few months all the way up to young adults who are beaten and abused by others. Behind closed doors, in an alley, in the picture-perfect happy family. Everywhere. This is reality. It could have been you. If you yourself derive pleasure by abusing children, I hope your carcass rots and you are forsaken by every person you have ever known. I am not allowed to give names, but the events in this story are true (although not all to one case), based off of events that happened to several people I know. In a way, this is their story. They wanted to let the world know, for you to see things through your own eyes what life can be like. Some _small _parts are made up, but none of it is exaggereated.

Just remember. This story is bad, but in truth, it is nowhere near the lowest of the low.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Naruto or ANY of its characters. They are property of Masashi Kishimoto. There may be characters appearing that are originals by me. Deidara's father is an example. Please review.

Have You Ever Seen The Rain

We Only Come Out At Night

The house was dark, the night having long since taken over from the daylight hours. Panes of glass from many windows were beaded with droplets of rainwater as dismal light filtered through pouring rain and the dark leaves of a hanging willow tree. Listening closely, Deidara swore he could hear the water trickling off the long boughs onto the ground, as if the great tree were weeping.

Downstairs, in the nook beneath the stairwell, was a hidden door blended into the wooden paneling. When closed, only one who knew it was there would be able to distinguish the slight difference between door and woodwork, but there was never enough light in the dark corner for that fact to be revealed. This was to Deidara's advantage as he moved into concealment in the shadow of the stair.

A slender, bruised hand slid along the molding at the base of the wall until it came across a groove in the wood. Fingers followed the groove upwards until they reached a particular swirl in the carved wood paneling and pressed upon the center of it. Next to the blond teen a door slid open with the barest skid of wood on wood, although the sound was muffled by the pounding of rain on slated shingles and the papery patter of drops on flipping willow leaves.

A peal of thunder cracked overhead, following on the heels of a flash of blinding light. Deidara jumped, opening the door wide and ducking through while the reverberations still shook the house. He slid the door completely shut again and leaned shakily up against the smooth wall of the narrow passage. _If that woke my father up…_Deidara shook his head, long bangs flicking back and forth as he did so. It was best not to think of what would happen then. With a shudder, Deidara carefully pushed himself away from the wall and crouched in the pitch-dark of the stone passageway. The low ceiling was barely high enough for him to creep along on all fours without bumping his head. Feeling his way down the crawlspace, his hands moved along the baseboards in search of the small, bent nail that would tell him which door he should open next. When his fingers brushed against it, he felt upwards along the wall for the piece of loose brick that was the catch for the door he knelt in front of. Deft hands searched the wall, counting mortar lines this way and that until they came at last to rest upon the cracked stone.

Within moments, the door was back in place and Deidara was climbing carefully up a dusty airshaft ladder. He came to the top of the ladder, his ponytail brushing the second trap door into the attic, and stopped. Deidara took exactly seven steps back down, and reached for the piece of string looped on the wall. When he found it, he tugged it gently and looked through the small crack of gray light revealed.

Deidara's blue eyes peered through the clothes in the back of his closet and examined the room beyond. His room. One might not think so for lack of teenager-esque decorating, but it was indeed his own.

Slowly, Deidara opened the panel wide enough to slip through and balanced himself on the iron rungs. In one swift motion, he swung himself though and shut the paneling behind him, shoving a few pairs of hanging pants in the way, just in case. Sighing, the blond boy moved from his closet and laid quietly on the bed. His thin and battered hand reached into the breast of his hoodie and removed the objects he had hidden there. A bag of chips and a slice of bread filched from the pantry, a wedge of cheese from the round in the fridge, and a small piece of smoked ham were the fruit of his venture downstairs.

Quickly layering the meat and cheese on the bread, he hungrily pushed makeshift sandwich into his mouth and ate it. He dusted the crumbs from his face and hands and reached for the chips. Deidara opened the bag as quietly as he could, wincing at the squeak of plastic. Sitting cross-legged, he ate them one by one while listening to the soft patter of rain all around him. When he was done, he wadded up the wrapper and stuffed it behind his dresser before grabbing a glass mug from his windowsill. Taking a sip, he grimaced at the taste, but did not hesitate to take another. The water was acrid and musty, flavored by old, damp wood.

After he took another sip, he used his hoodie's sleeve to wipe away the water gathering on the windowsill and pushed the mug beneath the drip. Happily fed, he pulled up his sheets and slid under them, fully intent upon sleeping. His eyes were shut and he could feel himself drifting towards sleep when he heard a sound that made his eyes snap open in fear, his body going rigid and cold under the sheets. _No! Not tonight! Not again! _

His breath held caught in his throat and he hoped, dared upon hoping that tonight he would be left alone. His stomach plummeted and churned as the knob of his door turned and creaked. _Not tonight…_The thought was little more than a moan in his head. There had never been any chance with hoping, and there never would be. _I hate you…_

As his door slip open, Deidara curled into a tight ball and willed himself to be outside in the rain. He imagined each cold, clean smelling droplet touching down on him in such a manner as to leave him soaked. He imagined the feel of sodden clothes, slicked to his skin with wetness and the drop of water trailing its way down the back of his neck, the blond hair plastered to his face, the water dripping from the end of his nose. The image was almost perfect in Deidara's mind, he was almost out _there_, there where he wouldn't have to feel the callused hands pulling away the sheet and lifting the back of his hoodie. He was almost in a place where he couldn't care.

A warm hand touched his cold back and he flinched, the illusion broken. Goose bumps spread across his body and the hair at the back of his neck rose in chill apprehension. It was almost as if Deidara could feel each ridge in the fingers touching his back as they moved around, feeling the soft, bruised flesh. Without warning, the bitten nails dug into the middle of his back and Deidara stifled a gasp. The fingers bit into his back and clenched, sending a sharp wave of pain that made the teenager arch his back with a strangled intake of breath. From above Deidara, a cold, dead voice was heard.

"Tell me, what must I do? What could I possibly do to punish you? What torture is enough to atone for your crime, Deidara?" The voice seemed to take on a cooing hint, almost pitying in its mocking tone. "Tell your daddy what he can do to bring her back. After all, its your fault that she's gone, isn't it, Deidara?"

Deidara turned his face into the sheets, his eyes clenched shut to keep the tears from leaking out. No matter what answer he gave, he wouldn't be spared. His silence itself was enough of an answer. The hand dug into his back again and he hissed, throwing his head back as old bruises were mashed into once again.

"You're not going to answer me again?" the voice asked, sounding as if hurt. "You hurt me, Dei-chan. I was really hoping you'd cooperate this time. Maybe I should just - oh say -" A warm hand slid down towards the waistband of Deidara's jeans and slid into the back, caressing the teen's bottom. "Invite myself to the goods without your consent?" Fingers moved to caress the boy's entrance, and Deidara shook his head vigorously.

"No…" Deidara's moan was quiet, barely audible against the sheets. He felt the hand relax, then it prodded at him. "No…" A bit louder.

"Oh, what did you say? I couldn't hear you? Did you say no? I _must_ be mistaken." Deidara's father pulled his son into his lap and took his hand out of the teenager's jeans. Deidara lay limply against him, his head flopped sideways into the man's shoulder. "You see, no isn't an answer when you deserve it. Why don't you understand that?" He leaned forward and breathed in Deidara's breath, making a tsk-tsk sound.

"You've been to the pantry again, haven't you? How you manage to get down there without me catching you is quite a mystery, my disobedient son. How ever do you get past your dear otousan?" His father's hand brushed Deidara's hair back and lifted his head up to stare at his son's closed eyelids.

"No matter. You need to be punished for that."


	3. The Places You Have Come ToFear the Most

Ok. I said graphic, but I wasn't feeling for it. At all. So the end is a little different than the rest, but who knows? It may be even more fitting. And somehow, its almost exactly how I'm feeling right now. I need anger management. I have probs letting my emotions out. I can't cry no matter how sad I am, I just can't. The tears are there, but they won't come. I fell just a tad emo-ish right now...

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Naruto. It is the property of Masashi Kishimoto. Deidara's father is my own invention, a reincarnation of every sexually abused child's personal demon. The characters may not be real, but as much as we wish to ignore the fact, the situation IS real. There are children, some no older than a few months all the way up to young adults who are beaten and abused by others. Behind closed doors, in an alley, in the picture-perfect happy family. Everywhere. This is reality. It could have been you. If you yourself derive pleasure by abusing children, I hope your carcass rots and you are forsaken by every person you have ever known. I am not allowed to give names, but the events in this story are true (although not all to one case), based off of events that happened to several people I know. In a way, this is their story. They wanted to let the world know, for you to see things through your own eyes what life can be like. Some _small _parts are made up, but none of it is exaggereated.

Just remember. This story is bad, but in truth, it is nowhere near the lowest of the low.

Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most

"Daddy! D-d-daddy! Please…! Stop…" The pitiable sobbing reduced itself to a low whimper as Deidara was thrown against a wall into a corner of the room. Slumping to the floor, he held arms up in front of himself in a feeble attempt to protect himself. Not that that would help any.

"Please, don't hit me…!" the blond child begged of his father through tear-sodden bangs. The man towering above him grinned in sudden malice.

"Don't hit you, you say?" he questioned mockingly of his son, a sick glint in his cold eyes. Deidara's blue eyes widened perceptibly, understanding now what his pleas would soon beget him, and he turned his face away. Only such a sick, perverted man as his father would do such a thing.

"No! N-n-no…! I didn't mean…!" Deidara whimpered as his father crouched in front of him, cupping the teen's wet chin and turning the red face towards himself.

"Oh, but that _is_ what you meant, isn't it?" the man cooed. "Don't tell me that you can't make up your mind, Deidara." The man's large hand rubbed at his child's red cheek.

Deidara struck out with a small fist, knowing he would be punished for that small act of defiance. His bruised knuckles smacked into his father's chest before falling away. The man lowered his head and glared at the small boy he held fast to the wall.

"It's not nice to hit people, Dei-chan." His father taunted, tightening his grip on the front of the boy's shirt. Deidara squirmed, breathing quickly and trembling against the wall. It was still thundering outside, the grumbling roll of rain-laden clouds seeming to match each beat of his pounding heart. An exceptionally loud clap of thunder caused him to startle, jerking against his father's hold. Pulling back, he whimpered and leaned as far away as he could.

"Dei-chan, Dei-chan. Haven't you learned?" the man sighed, his short sandy hair waving as he tilted his head. "You can't get away. You can't run. There's nowhere to hide, really. And if you could, where would you go?" His voice was fervent, almost fevered in its mocking tones. It was the voice of a madman, seductive in its own way. It was a voice meant to make you _believe_ what it was saying, to make you _believe_ that there was no way out. The voice of insanity.

Deidara knew his father was mad. The man was obsessed with his dead wife, Deidara's mother. He spoke to her as if she were still alive in his room after nightfall. He bought her gifts. He greeted her every morning. It was all kept away from his eyes, but Deidara knew it happened. He knew his father was stark, raving mad. All the more reason to fear Murasaki Tenkimaru.

"You can't run, Dei-chan. Mommy won't let you." Tenkimaru kissed his son's cheek, and then he kissed the other, despite Deidara trying to turn his head away from the soft caresses. The hand pushing him against the wall pulled and he found himself leaning limply up against his father's chest as the man plundered his mouth. He knew better than to resist. He still had bruises from where his father had smacked him up against the wall the other night.

Hard lips crushed his, biting at them and mouthing. A thick tongue slid past his small teeth and probed far as it would go, sliding around and twisting in a mix of saliva. After long moments, his father pulled back. The man's hand ran over Deidara's hair and brushed the strands clinging to his sweaty forehead. Touching blond hair, relishing in the feel of soft skin, Tenkimaru could lose himself in the moment. His lips pressed to a forehead, a gentle and loving caress of genuine love. It did not matter that the small body resting in his arms was not her. For this moment, he touched her skin again, warm and fleshy and full of innocent life.

"Darla…" hot breath panted into the teen's neck. "Darla…" Slowly, his hand slid up a thigh and rested lightly on Deidara's waistband. Trembling with quick breaths and racing heart, Deidara felt the fabric being pulled away as the man moaned into his neck. Knowing it was the only way to silence his frightened gasping and moaning, he pressed his face hard into the man's shoulder. If he did anything to break the man's fantasy, pain was a promised outcome.

Sore ribs detested the hand that reached up to push against them as it pulled his hoodie and shirt from him. The cloth snagged on his chin, and Deidara twisted his head to the side to avoid having his head yanked. The man breathed deeply as he tossed the articles to the side to better focus on what he was doing.

Large hands with callused fingers glided over baby soft skin to faraway eyes lost in the past, fingers separating long blonde locks before gliding down to run over skin once again. The body underneath him was gasping and shuddering, unnoticed were the tears as Tenkimaru kissed a trail of light caresses along the underside of Deidara's arm. Each little sound and acceleration of heartbeat was misinterpreted as the man's mind became further lost in his fantasy.

Frightened whimpers were ignored, each kiss bringing a bout of tears. Nothing should ever be this way, but it was. To the sound of rain falling on the slated tiles of a roof, a man violated a child and reveled in it. Each thrust added another bitter tear to the growing cesspool hidden deep within, with each whispered phrase of dearth a twinge of smoldering anger brought itself a little closer to the surface. Every dam has a breaking point and once it is reached, everything is washed away in the resulting flood. All you can do is watch the growing cracks and hope its not too late.


	4. Keep On Moving

Ok, this chap jumps around a bit and its pretty short, but its better than nothing at all, ne?

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Naruto. It is the property of Masashi Kishimoto. Deidara's father is my own invention, a reincarnation of every sexually abused child's personal demon. The characters may not be real, but as much as we wish to ignore the fact, the situation IS real. There are children, some no older than a few months all the way up to young adults who are beaten and abused by others. Behind closed doors, in an alley, in the picture-perfect happy family. Everywhere. This is reality. It could have been you. If you yourself derive pleasure by abusing children, I hope your carcass rots and you are forsaken by every person you have ever known. I am not allowed to give names, but the events in this story are true (although not all to one case), based off of events that happened to several people I know. In a way, this is their story. They wanted to let the world know, for you to see things through your own eyes what life can be like. Some _small _parts are made up, but none of it is exaggereated.

Just remember. This story is bad, but in truth, it is nowhere near the lowest of the low.

Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

Keep On Moving

"Get your fucking ass up!" The command was followed by a kick to the ribs. "Don't give me any of your shit, boy!"

Startled into wakefulness, Deidara scrambled up off the floor and ran to his closet, glad that the man was satisfied with only a single kick this morning when he turned to find that the other had already left.

It was morning, and Deidara was expected to dress, tidy up his room, and make it to school on his own. It was no surprise when the blonde picked up his oversized gray hoodie and dusted it off. It was even less of one when he picked out the rest of his clothes, all big enough for a boy three years his senior. Grabbing his clothes, he rushed into the bathroom to shower and change.

After the door was firmly locked, he threw his clothing from last night in the hamper and stepped into the shower. Once the water was on, he scrubbed himself furiously to remove the ilk left on himself in an attempt to remove the feeling of those hands and other vile parts of his father. Flushed and red-cheeked, Deidara put down the bar of soap and just stood in the falling water, letting the tears melt into the flow, undetected.

With a sigh, Deidara shut off the water and stepped out. He didn't really want to look in the mirror, but he did. Most of his left cheek was a bruise, and part of that eye as well. His bottom lip was swollen and split. One thin hand came up an brushed it gently, and Deidara winced. There was nothing he could do about the lip, but he _could_ do something about the bruise.

Sitting on the bathroom counter, Deidara dug through the medicine cabinet until he found a small bottle of concealer hidden behind an old bottle of cough syrup that was never used. Unscrewing the lid, he carefully dabbed the skin colored cream on his cheek and around his eye before looking in the mirror to softly rub it in. Covering the bruises as best he could, Deidara put the makeup bottle away and climbed down, feeling the soreness in his backside and ribs. He didn't even bother brushing his teeth.

There was nothing to do now but to put on his clothes and leave for school after fixing up his room. The first task finished, Deidara stepped into his room and re-made the bed with clean covers, taking the soiled ones into the bathroom to fold and put in the hamper so he could wash them once he got home. Taking his book bag, he headed downstairs and to the front door. As he opened it, he heard something smack the wall beside him. Looking over, he noticed it was a package of blueberry Pop-Tarts. Turning and seeing that his father was nowhere in sight, Deidara picked up his rare breakfast and tucked it in his pocket before quietly shutting the front door behind him. It was a rare quiet morning in this house.

The air was damp and clean, and despite all circumstances, it put a spring in Deidara's step. Whistling birds sang from their green perches and there was a certain liveliness to the waking day.

Taking out his Pop-Tarts, Deidara opened the package and pulled out one of the broken chunks. Putting it in his pocket hadn't helped any, but at least it was all there. So, to the singsong voices of warblers and jays, Deidara walked down the morning street and munched his breakfast. The school was some way away, but Deidara was used to walking to it. It wasn't long before he could see the top of the main building peeking over the treetops.

Students littered the school grounds, bunched in groups all around the scattered picnic tables and walking hither to thither. Deidara passed through them and tossed the wrapper from his breakfast into a trash barrel as he moved towards a small cubby-like space along one of the side walls. This was where Deidara spent his time before school and during lunch. It was out of the way and quiet, and few of the meaner students would go so far out of their way to harass the under-sized boy.

Sighing, Deidara stepped up into the brick lined cubby and folded himself down with his knees to his chest and his shoulder leaning gingerly against the hard wall. There was still almost an hour before school started, and Deidara was still tired. Nights in bed only granted him a restless sleep, and a short nap was well deserved on his part. Settling down more comfortably with his backpack to pillow his head, Deidara drifted into a shallow sleep.

A scuffling commotion close by brought Deidara immediately to himself, trying to locate where the sound was coming from. As a body was heavily thrown against the wall not far outside of his cubby, Deidara cowered into the corner and stayed still. The sound came again, the unmistakable thump of a body being pushed forcefully against a wall. There was a quick succession of gagging sounds, and then all was quiet except for a slight rustling of cloth. The thud of a body sliding to the ground was Deidara's only warning before the attacker dragged their victim in front of the cubby.

Deidara stared, wide eyed and frightened at the body dragging the ground in front of him before risking a glance up into glaring red eyes.

"Leave him, Itachi. I don't think the little brat's gonna rat." Red eyes blinked shut for a moment before the black haired man looked for a moment at his partner. The redhead was staring as stoically as the first man, but seemed less concerned.

"Drop it and let's go." The redhead gave one look at Deidara, as if daring the cowering blond to tell of their crime, causing the boy to shake his head frantically. The dark-haired teen grabbed the body again and gave it one last heave, making it land in the cubby half on top of Deidara.

Deidara only waited for as long as it took for the other's footsteps to fade before shoving the body off of him and dashing out of the cubby and along the wall towards the front of the school. He had little hope that the other student was still alive, and was only interested in saving himself.

Before turning around the edge of the building, Deidara stopped to catch his breath and compose himself before stepping around front and walking into the building. He kept his eyes glued to the ground a few feet in front of him the whole length of the hallway, only looking up to determine whether or not there was anyone coming when he crossed an intersection. His footsteps followed the lines between the broad white tiles of the school floor. It was going to be a long day…

This was short, but introduces some other characters. No, there will not be love at first sight.


	5. Carry That Weight

Ok, this is the LONGEST chapter I have typed in a LONG time. Awesome! Lol. Ok.

SPECIAL NOTE!!: In this chapter, there is a bit more 'canon' (If you could call it that...) anime stuff going on. This is Deidara, remember. He likes to make bombs and blow things up. And he has mouths in the palms of his hands. Eventually, I'll get around to extracting him from his home situation.

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Naruto. It is the property of Masashi Kishimoto. Deidara's father is my own invention, a reincarnation of every sexually abused child's personal demon. The characters may not be real, but as much as we wish to ignore the fact, the situation IS real. There are children, some no older than a few months all the way up to young adults who are beaten and abused by others. Behind closed doors, in an alley, in the picture-perfect happy family. Everywhere. This is reality. It could have been you. If you yourself derive pleasure by abusing children, I hope your carcass rots and you are forsaken by every person you have ever known. I am not allowed to give names, but many of the events in this story are true (although not all to one case), based off of events that happened to several people I know. In a way, this is their story. They wanted to let the world know, for you to see things through your own eyes what life can be like. Some _small _parts are made up, but none of it is exaggereated. Then, other parts are purely Deidara.

Just remember. This story is bad, but in truth, it is nowhere near the lowest of the low.

Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

Carry That Weight

You get used to a certain amount of pain in your life, especially if you have lived with it for a long time. You numb yourself so that it doesn't hurt as bad, even if it doesn't make the pain any less real. There are different pains of the body and soul that seem natural after a time. And when they are gone, you find yourself wondering much like how you find out how after replacing a pair of old boots you've worn for long years that your feet weren't supposed to hurt that way. These pains have become so much a part of your everyday life, that its hard to see yourself living without them. Only the new aches stand out, whether emotional or physical. This is how people like Deidara live.

Deidara gripped the cover of his math text and held it until his knuckles showed white, and then some. It wasn't any far leap of knowledge to see that he was displeased at something. At what, it was hard to tell. His dull blond bangs hung over his entire face, covering any expression he might have had, although there was a certain trembling that spoke of quivering lips and unshed tears. But when you hide yourself away in a corner and pray to be invisible, it comes true. Nobody can quite see an individual like this, who wishes to be unseen. Seeing something insignificant, eyes of the normal populace pass right over these fleshen ghosts, a speck of sand on the floor of a room.

Silently, as roll call was taken, Deidara gripped the cover with hands that seemed they would break at the joints if he could put just another ounce of pressure. Finally, as if coming to an abrupt halt, the trembling ceased. It could take place at another time. Now was the time for being 'normal'. As his name was called, Deidara answered with his typical quiet '_here_' and released his book. The cover was slightly warped. Quietly, he adjusted his fingerless gloves.

It was several minutes of staring at nothing later that the assignment was passed out, and Deidara had something diverting to do. His eyes landed on the white sheet through a curtain of hair. Matrices. Easy stuff for some, a greater struggle for Deidara. Thankfully, with a formula from the back of the book and a mathematical calculator, things were resolved fairly simply. Minutes before the bell, Deidara was again sitting motionlessly, staring sightlessly at nothing in particular. This was a favorite habit of his, caused by a certain peculiar numbness he had cultivated over the years. It wasn't right that he should be able to escape feeling one thing without being able to feel the others, but there is always a price for blocking something out. Especially now, when his heart was so sore. In this numbness, the world is there, but one ceases to feel it. Words spoken are monotonous, and heard things have a distant dreamlike quality, like voices distorted through water. Touch is much like the sensation of a needle pushing through flesh after being administered a heavy anesthetic, only a vague tugging. Nothing seems real in a place so distant from reality.

A moment of owlish blinking broke the spell, and it was several moments before Deidara registered that the bell had rung. Slowly, he rose and gathered his books before leaving, his footsteps like walking with legs made from air. He continued on his way, down through a maze of hallways in this state, letting instinct guide him in directions. It was only a few minutes, seemingly an instant, and he was in his next class. There was a vague impression of traversing some long, crowded place full of static noise and pressing bodies, but it was brushed aside.

Blinking again, Deidara shook his head and let his mind wander back to reality. Skipping through lessons, even as such, would only lead to worse grades and worser consequences. Now he was in Literature, a fairly easy class so long as you read the stories and paid attention to the lectures.

Currently, his teacher was preparing to take up the books that he had lent out three weeks before. Deidara went over and laid his copy on the top of the counter and went to sit down in the corner seat. The other students began walking in in twos and threes and sitting in their usual desks, quiet chatter filling his ears with useless nothings. As the bell rang again, order fell into place and there was momentary quiet. With the cessation of voices came the ring of well placed steps as the teacher walked around gathering books.

The lesson began shortly, and minds were busied. Abstractly, Deidara wondered whether or not his father would be home when school let out. If he wasn't, that gave Deidara a chance to relax, for even a short while. However, it was rare that Tenkimaru worked late on Wednesdays. The man was more likely to be at home waiting for him. Turning to look out the window on the far side of the room, Deidara sighed. Another day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX Three Weeks Later XXXXXXXXXXXX

Deidara brushed his hair back behind his ear so that it was out of his face and tried once again to extract the sodden blanket from the grips of the washing machine. A few tugs reveal the fruitless nature of that tactic, so he leant over the edge of the machine and began unwrapping the blanket manually. Finally, a sharp tug brought the blanket out of the appliance where it was immediately transferred to the dryer. Now that the blanket was out, Deidara could take out the rest of the clothes in the washer and put them in the dryer.

One hand rubbed his stomach where he had had to put his weight on it to lean over the washer. The other popped a dryer sheet in after the clothes and slammed the door shut. Now that the other infernal machine was running, Deidara could cut down to the grocery store to buy food. Odd that his father would not let him eat half the time, and yet let him out to buy groceries. Albeit, he was expected to return the exact change to his father, along with the receipt to insure he was being truthful.

He walked into the kitchen and angrily snatched the fifty off the magnetic clip on the refrigerator. He was halfway to the store when he noticed there was a note with it. Flipping to it, he read it while standing at the bus stop.

_Dei-chan,_

_Get yourself a little treat. You deserve it. You've been a good boy. Mommy would have been proud._

It disgusted Deidara that his father would write to him the same way he spoke to him, like a very small child, but it was always the same. He crumpled the note and threw it in the nearest garbage can with a sneer. The bus drove up then and he climbed aboard after everyone else, throwing a handful of change into the coin slot and getting a transfer slip. The ride was quiet, as buses on this side of town tended to be. The bus stopped a few times, and a weight settled beside Deidara.

Glancing up, he quickly locked his eyes on his knees and kept them there. A slight chuckle from beside him told him how much this amused his bench partner. A single look into those same red eyes from three weeks before was enough to keep his eyes firmly downwards, excepting a glance up every time the bus stopped to see if it was his stop yet. It frustrated him every time they stopped that the red-eyed murderer hadn't gotten off yet, and there were only three more stops left, and that Deidara's was the last one.

Unknowingly, the glare he was directing at his knees had become scorching as Deidara mulled over everything that had happened this past week, and the week before that, and his entire life. Finally, the bus stopped at its last stop, and Deidara got up. The man - Itachi if he remembered correctly - was in his path, as the blond had been in the window seat, and Deidara sent that scorching glare right at him when he looked up. It was entirely unconscious, and he wasn't even aware how much hate and disgust was radiating from his eyes when he did it.

--------change POV…kinda….

Slowly, Itachi's eyebrow rose. The young man expected him to move, did he? Well, it _was_ their stop. So, Itachi stood and moved down the isle towards the exit, feeling the boy's glare on the backs of his knees as he walked. It was amusing, really. The boy had been so timid when he first sat down next to him, and he was still holding onto his fearful posture and actions, but his eyes were positively _burning._

It was somehow evident that the majority of that gaze was not directed at him, but at something else in the boy's life. There was great hate there, a lividness unmatched by any Itachi had ever seen. He saw murder in those eyes. _Someone_ would be dying soon.

Tilting his head in speculation, Itachi walked off to his own destination, wondering if there might be something gained in having the boy watched.

--------Okk, back to normal….

As weeks and months and years had crept by, Deidara had been changing. It went unnoticed by all, sliding through the cracks of his mind and taking hold like a virus, rooting itself firmly wherever it could gain hold. It was the symptom of too much pressure on the mind, too much weight on the emotions, and too much harm to the body. Slowly, like the roots of a tree growing up through a sidewalk, Deidara's dam was cracking. The blistering stare he directed at the shop fronts located along the street was only the barest clue of how deep those fractures went.

Dragging his mind back to where it was supposed to be, Deidara's glare faded to his usual timid glances. He sped up his pace, walking towards the grocery store a block away. He reached it and grabbed a cart from the front before wheeling towards the dried good section and pulling out his shopping list. A glance at the list, and he began to shop.

Twenty minutes later, and he was checking out. He had already piled all his groceries up when the cashier turned to him and gave him an odd look. Shrugging, the woman rung him up and told him the amount. It was only six dollars and twenty nine cents shy of the fifty dollars he had been given. Holding the bill out, he waited for his change. Taking it and his receipt, he grabbed his bags and went out the door.

The bad thing was, it was hard for him to carry such heavy stuff for very long. He was almost to the bus stop when he remembered he was supposed to get himself something. Looking back the way he had come, and then down at the bags in his hands, he decided going back was _not_ an option. Especially since it was already just past dark. His father would probably become extremely irate if Deidara _didn't_ get himself something, since he had been given express permission to do so. So instead, he glanced around his immediate area and spotted a bakery and sweets shop. A sign in the window advertised a special deal this week. Buy one thing, and get two things of equal or lesser value free. Gathering his bags, he went inside and was immediately drawn to the smell of fresh dango. He set his bags down at the foot of the counter and asked if the deal applied to dango. It did.

He reached the bus stop with only minutes to spare, and pulled out one of his dango kebab thingies while he waited. Other people were already waiting, but he ignored them. The bus pulled up, and he stuffed the dango back in its folded wrap of paper and shoved it in a bag before climbing in and giving the driver his transfer slip. He took the same seat he had taken on the ride there and settled his bags at his feet before pulling out his dango and ducking his head so the driver wouldn't see.

A weight settled itself beside him and he glanced up through his blond bangs. Coincidence or not, this was getting creepy. It was almost like the guy was following him. Glancing back down, his eyes drifted over just in time to see a pair of fingers pluck the topmost ball of dango off of his kebab. Snapping his head up in a rare show of indignant distress, Deidara watched as the dumpling disappeared into Itachi's mouth.

It was only then that Itachi let his eyes glide down and to the side to look at the blond lad's pouting, distressed face. For a moment, the boy refused to meet his eyes, but then, pulling his dango closer to himself, he glared up through his bangs.

"That was my dango," Deidara spoke monotonously.

"I am aware of that." Was the reply before Itachi's hand reached out to grab another tasty dumpling. He was spited when the skewer was jerked out of his reach. Somehow, with just this small bit of interaction, Deidara lost some of his fear and purposely irked somebody who he knew was a murderer. He wasn't afraid. Death could certainly be no worse than the life he held. Deidara gave Itachi another glare for good measure before taking a bite of the dango himself. Meanwhile, Itachi watched him blankly.

"Please."

"What?" Deidara looked over, shocked, and completely forgot to be the least bit timid. He was not used to having people ask him nicely for things, much less seasoned criminals.

"May I please have some of your dango?" Came the request again. Dumbfounded, Deidara let the man take another dumpling. "Thank you."

"Uh…" Just then, the bus stopped and they both glanced up at the digital readout. It was Deidara's stop, and so it seemed, Itachi's. Itachi got up and headed for the doors, and Deidara followed with all of his grocery bags, dango once again tucked into a bag. Deidara had only just stepped off of the buss when a hand grabbed half of his bags. He spun around, not sure what to do, but oddly relaxed when he noticed it was Itachi. Although he frowned somewhat when he noticed Itachi had already found the dango. Deidara wasn't exactly sure what to do about this turn of events, so he huffed and took a few experimental steps away from the bus stop. Itachi followed, dango in one hand.

Shaking his head, Deidara set out towards his house. Footsteps followed behind. It was the weirdest feeling, having a murderer follow you home while carrying your groceries. And strangely, Deidara could care less, so long as his father didn't find out he had help. They walked in silence until they reached where they were supposed to turn onto Deidara's street. The blond boy glanced at his house, and all the blood rushed from his face. No only was his father home, but several of the man's friends were there with him, told by all the cars parked in the driveway.

In an instant, Deidara had reverted back to his quiet, fearful self. He glanced with scared, wide eyes at the house several times before grabbing his bags from Itachi. The man only stared. Not caring, Deidara turned to his house and swallowed hard, walking towards it with all the appearances of walking straight into hell. He only glanced back once, barely registering Itachi's look of speculation before snapping his wide eyed gaze on his house. He could only hope the man was sober.

Deidara stepped up to the door, listening quietly for a minute before turning the handle and dragging himself in. His head was down, gaze averted to the floor, and bangs covering his face, pretending for all the world that he was not in that house at that moment. He closed the door softly and walked past the living room to the kitchen. As he passed the living room, he heard the sounds of drunken laughter and gulped. The rattle of poker chips only made his stomach drop further, and the rattle of dice in their leather cups made him nauseous

Trying his best to be as quiet as possible, he began putting away groceries. He was almost done when he heard footsteps behind him. Instinctively, Deidara stiffened. He smelt the man before he felt the hand grasp his arm, the stench of beer making him gag.

"Why don't you make us something to eat, Dei-chan?" His father's painful grip on his arm eased, and Deidara turned slightly towards him.

"What would you like, father?" Deidara's voice was quiet, trembling. The man seemed to think for a moment.

"Sandwiches. Bologna and cheese. And where's those damned receipts, boy?" the man was gruff, but he wasn't behaving as horribly as he could have. There had been other nights that Deidara didn't even want to think about. Wordlessly, Deidara pulled out the receipts from the grocery store and the shop he had bought the dango at and handed them over. Then he pulled out the last of the money and handed it over, counting to make sure he had gotten every last penny. His father read over the receipts and counted the money before grunting.

"Don't be long with the food." Then he walked back into the living room. Waiting until he hear the chorus of calls from the living room, Deidara collapsed back against the counter and let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He laid there for a short moment, getting his feet back under him, and then he got to work making the sandwiches. He could only hope the rest of the night stayed this docile and that he would get out of this safely. He could only hope.


End file.
